


Heavy Weapons

by Argyle



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Crack, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-03
Updated: 2008-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-29 05:17:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argyle/pseuds/Argyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam likes men of action.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy Weapons

"What's this, eh?"

"What's what?"

Gene held up the cardboard box which contained one Colonel William Bryson, brighter than life, all righteousness and rippling pectorals. Here at last was the multi-action grip, fuzzy ginger hair, astute brown eyes, and replica insignia. Able-bodied and intelligent, Bryson might well have been a one-man army, always at the ready to take on enemy combatants.

Or so the package claimed. Sam meanwhile had vivid memories of him doing rather a lot of sitting around with cups of Darjeeling, or (alternatively) battling dinosaurs on catback.

"Didn't think you went for ten inch tall, beef-brained military types. Is it the gun? The uniform? The whiff of vinyl?"

" _That_ is a piece of my childhood," Sam said, more wistfully than defensive. So what was wrong with a little indulgence now and again? Of course the Action Man had been quite a find, though he'd not actively sought it out, provided 'actively' allowed for a few detours on the way home from the station, and 'sought' didn't include an askance glance towards a shop window or four. And then, catching Gene's glare: "I mean... It makes me feel young again."

"In that case, I'd hate to see you at the flea circus," Gene sniffed, and made to open the box, thumbnail poised over the thin sellotape seal.

"Oi!" Sam wrenched it away from him. "Leave off."

"Like a kid at Christmas, you are."

Sam shook his head. "It'll be worth more in the original packaging."

"When?"

"Twenty years."

"You're gonna keep that thing around for twenty years?"

"Yeah."

Gene appeared to consider this. "Worth how much, exactly?"

"Rare variation? A few thousand quid, to the right buyer," said Sam.

"Right. Just don't expect free boarding. I want two bottles of single malt when you finally sell 'im off."

"Let me keep him on a nice, dry closet shelf, and I'll make it three."

"Don't press your luck."

"C'mon, Gene. There's plenty of room beside your grommet collection."

Gene blanched. "'S not a collection. I keep those so I have them when I need them."

"You don't say." Sam gave Gene's arse a squeeze before he ambled up the stairs, colonel in hand. "I'll just get a footstool."


End file.
